Sic Transit Hicks
by BorntothePurple
Summary: Chick Hicks travels to Radiator Springs with dark plans for revenge on the car he feels ruined his life. Will he find redemption in the small town? Or his own ruin? Completed. Dedicated to MyFriendJoe.
1. Chapter 1: A New Day Dawns

_Hello and welcome to my first ever fanfic. Please read and review, I love reviews, I want to hear from you, even if you hate it! But I hope you like it._

Disclaimer: I do not own Cars characters. I am merely borrowing them. This story is a much expanded version of my flash fiction story "The Driver" which was published in AnotherRealm webzine a few months ago. 

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_**Sic Transit Gloria Mundi: Latin. " So passes the glory of the world" - commonly translated as "Fame is Fleeting"**_

It was morning. Chick Hicks awoke from a troubled sleep in his heated garage. He was not a happy car. It has been a long, lonely night, one in a seemingly endless string of long, lonely nights. As he shook off sleep, he replayed the final lap of the Piston Cup over in his mind. He remembered the satisfaction he'd felt slamming into The King, sending him flying, then the pure joy of crossing that finish line first. Finally, he had fulfilled his lifelong dream. It had been the happiest few seconds of his life. He was finally out of the King's shadow, ready to bask in the adoration of his fans.

Then it all fell apart. He'd triumphantly driven out to receive his rightful fame and fortune and had been met with boos and jeers. All because that miserable Lightning had won over the crowd by pushing a battered King across the finish line. It was bad enough being upstaged by a rookie. It was even worse that the crash had again put the King in the limelight. The crowd loved Strip Weathers, and Chick had made him a martyr.

Even though he'd beaten him, the King still had all the glory, all the sympathy. It sickened Chick. It sickened him to the core of his being.

He had become an outcast. Dinaco didn't want him. The fans didn't want him. When he'd inquired about the sponsorship, Tex had been cold and evasive. He had put Chick off. And put him off. Chick knew that Tex didn't want to endorse him and was trying to come up with a way out. Had he already approached Lightning? Was he eyeing one of the other rookies? These questions kept Chick up at night.

He was, he thought, at the low point of his career. Things couldn't get any worse.

He was wrong.


	2. An Encounter

After preparing for the day, Chick headed out. As he turned to lock the garage door, he sighed. Someone had been at it again. Graffiti marred the door. Written in huge harsh red lettering, someone had scrawled "The King Lives" across the front of his garage door. To the side, again marked in red, where the words "Loser" and "Pyscho." Couldn't these morons even spell? Chick groaned. This wasn't the first time, and it probably wouldn't be the last time. How were these cars getting in, anyway? They surely weren't climbing over the fence! It would take forever to scrub off.

Chick felt angry and helpless. _One lousy accident _he thought. _One lousy accident, and they all hate me. _He remembered the fans had once surrounded him, remembered how they cheered for their Thunder. The twins shouting support, and then the look on their faces when he finally leapt the platform to claim what should have been his rightful prize. Could this day get any worse? He would try to forget it, he decided, as he headed for the track for his practice laps.

Still thinking about the graffiti, Chick didn't notice a gang of young cars milling around on the side of the road.

Suddenly, he shuddered as something large and heavy crashed into his side. Gasping, he pulled up- and another stone smashed through his side window. Fury and pain shot through him.

"You bastards," he screamed. "I'll tear you apart!" Shouting curses, he charged towards them.

The kids ran. He chased them, keeping up with them easily. They rounded the bend and other cars were suddenly there. A gray Chevy Impala screamed and burned rubber, barely getting out of the way in time. Pandemonium reigned. He cornered one of the child-cars in an alleyway and slowly advanced on him. The younger car began screaming for help.

A police car drove up. _Thank Ford _Chick thought. He turned to the cop, "This little delinquent broke my window."

The car-child began to sob. "He's crazy," he wailed. "He's trying to kill me!"

The cop stared at Chick. "At it again, huh?" he said. "Accosting children now? Maybe you better accompany me back to the station."

Chick stared at him in disbelief. "He broke my window," he said helplessly.

The young car began to wail louder.

"So you decided to run him down?"

"I…no," stammered Chick. All he needed was trouble with the law. He could imagine the headlines. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he began to apologize. "I … I'm sorry. I wasn't going to hurt him."

The cop shook his head. "Come to think of it," he said. "I don't want to waste any more time with you. I'm writing you a citation for assault. We'll set a court date."

"Assault? But I didn't touch him! Can't you see my broken window?"

The cop frowned. "Are you arguing with me?"

Chick folded. _When this hits the papers…_ "No sir."

"Alright then," the cop turned and drove off.

The young car stopped sobbing. He gave Chick a wicked grin and sped off past him.

Cars all around were staring. "What are you looking at? I won the Piston Cup, damn it! It's the biggest cup in racing!" Chick yelled at them. But their accusing eyes followed him as he sped away.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3 of **__**Sic Transit Chick**_

_**(Thanks for the reviews! Keep em coming, ok:-)**_

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When he got to the track, no one in the pit crew would look him in the eye.

It made him uncomfortable. He usually was nice to his pit crew. One had to be. After all, they were responsible for you in a big race. In the heat of the moment, he sometimes yelled at them, but overall, he thought, he treated them quite well. And they had always been supportive of him- they were, in fact, the closet he had to friends. It disconcerted him when the only response to his "Good Morning," was a chorus of half-hearted mumbles.

He eased onto the track. As he drove, the anger and humiliation began to fade. Life was so hard, but Chick loved the feel of his tires gripping the pavement, the sensation of air rushing by. As he rocketed down the track, he was filled with a sense of peace. It was, he realized, the only time he ever felt peaceful. His problems seemed lost in the wind. If only a race could be like practice- no pressure, no consuming desire to win, to humiliate and dominate. Hating the other cars on the track during a race gave him energy, an edge. But it also drained him.

And in practice, he didn't have to cope with being second best. As he rounded the last turn, reality pushed its way into the forefront of his mind. He heard, once more, the sneer in his wife's voice on the night she'd finally left him. "You are a nobody. You will always come in second. Second place and second rate. You hold me back, because you'll never be better than what you are. A loser. You will never amount to anything."

Familiar rage flooded through him and he shuddered with it. How he hated the King and Lightning!

He ended the lap and started to head off the track. Two of his pit crew were reading a newspaper. They were talking quietly, whispering, heads down. When he drove by, they looked up guiltily. He frowned.

"Let me see that."

The headline screamed out at him.

"The King to Remain Dinaco's Golden Boy" it read. "In a surprise move, Dinaco spokesmen and president Tex has decided to keep Strip Weathers as Dinaco's sponsored car. This comes as a shock because The King, who was nearly wrecked in his last race by rival Chick Hicks, has retired from racing. Citing a growing hatred of Chick among racing fans and the general public, Tex apparently decided to keep The King on…."

With a curse Chick threw the paper onto the track. Screaming obscenities, he drove over it, backed up, drove over it again. His pit crew stared at him uneasily.

"I'm going to kill him!" Chick screamed. "I swear to Chrysler I'm going to kill him!"

The crew scattered.

Alone, Chick turned away. Tears filled his eyes, embarrassing him even though there was no one to see him cry.

He drove. His only thought was to confront the King. He had no clear idea of what he'd do when he found him, but he had to. He had to find a way to cut him down, even though the King had always seemed indifferent to his insults. He had to vent his frustration. It was immature, he knew. But he couldn't help himself.

It didn't take him long to reach the King's private track. He drove around but there was no sign of the other racecar. He cornered one member of the King's pit crew as he was coming out of a building.

"Where is Strip?" he demanded.

The poor tire changer looked around as though seeking escape. "Ummm….."

Chick had to get the information. Fighting down his anger, he gave what he hoped was a winning smile. "Listen," he said. "I'm not going to yell at him. In fact, I want to apologize. I really regret what I did. It's been eating away at me. I want to say I'm sorry, and congratulate the King on keeping the sponsorship."

"Um…ok," said the other vehicle uncertainly, more intimidated than convinced. "He went to Radiator Springs. He wanted to meet the Hudson Hornet."

"Thank you," Chick said.

He drove off.

_Radiator Springs, here I come._


	4. Chapter 4: Radiator Springs

_**Chapter 4 of **__**Sic Transit Hicks**_

_Hey readers. Thanks for sticking with me for this long._

Chick wasn't used to driving long distances on ordinary roads. The smog stung his eyes. The other cars infuriated him with their slowness and dullness, their stupidity. Their headlights gave him a headache. It was unnatural for racecars to have to drive on highways, he thought. He was too good for it.

But he hadn't wanted to take a truck. In fact, he hadn't told anyone where he was going. And, he thought bitterly, there was no one to tell. No one really cared where he was going. As far as the whole racing world was concerned, he might as well drive off a cliff. _Screw that_ he thought _I don't need anyone._

His journey ended just at nightfall, which was a good thing for him; like all racecars, he had no headlights. He moved slowly through the town. The neon lights glowed brightly, some of them flickering on and off.

As he passed a large (and very unsteady-looking) tower of tires, a pale yellow 1959 Fiat rushed up to him.

"Hello friend, have you traveled far? Come and check my-" Luigi stopped in midstream. He stared at Chick. He made a noise like "huh" and without another word, turned and drove away.

_Must be one of MQueen's pit crew _the racecar thought. _Wonder how many more of the little freaks I'll run into?_

Cars were beginning to emerge from the doorways of buildings. A green 1959 Impala Low-Rider. A show car. Even a 1960 VW bus. They were all strangers to Chick, but they watched him with silent, hostile eyes. He didn't feel like approaching any of them to ask about the King.

A rusty tow truck pulled out of a building Chick identified as a café.

This car broke ranks with the others and rolled up to him.

"Hullo there."

Chick stopped.

"Name's Mater." The tow truck paused, looking at him more closely. "Hey, are you that there car from the race?"

There seemed no point in denying it. Chick nodded.

Mater's face clouded. "That was wrong, what you done did to the King." He said.

"I know," Chick said quickly. "And I feel terrible about it. I want to go apologize. Have you seen him?"

Mater's face brightened. "That's good. He done went for a drive. Wanted to see the sights."

"Hmmm…" Chick said.

"His wife's waitin' at the Cozy Cone," Mater said helpfully. "Iff'n you want to apologize to her too."

"Maybe later. Can you tell me which way The King went?"

"He headed off to the lookout."

Chick was starting to lose patience. "Which is where?"

"Thataway," Mater pointed with one tire. "Down that road."

"Thanks, um..Mater," said Chick. Then he paused. "And where, by the way, is MQueen?"

"Lightning? Why, he's out with Sally. If'n you wanta wait, they should be back soon. You wanta apologize to him too?"

"Sure. I'll catch him later. Thanks."

He started to turn away when Mater spoke again. "Hey," the tow truck said, apparently spotting the dent and broken window for the first time. "Yur hurt. You should see Doc. He'll fix yuh up good as new."

_Maybe that's a good idea. After all, I can't go driving around with a broken window._

A few moments later, he pulled up to Doc's office and knocked.

"I'm coming," he heard from inside.

Doc came to the door.

_Wait a minute…Doc __**Hudson? **__Crap._

Doc looked Chick up and down. He said nothing.

"Just thought I'd see the great Hudson Hornet," sneered Chick. "So how does it feel, old man, to be out of the action? Reduced to hiding out in this crappy little town? Too bad about that accident….how sad…. Just couldn't pull it together afterwards, huh? I guess you didn't have it in you."

Doc frowned. "Came all the way out here, Hicks, just to insult me?"

Chick sneered. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm just passing through."

"What do you want here, Hicks? What are you up to? I'm warning you, we won't put up with any trouble from you." He leaned forward, nose to nose with the green stock car. "Just give me an excuse. I'll have you locked away for so long you'll rust."

Chick smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. "We'll see, old man. We'll see."

He slowly drove away.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter 5 of **__**Sic Transit Chicks**_

_**Ok...PLEASE REVIEW**_**  
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Chick drove on the winding roads as he headed in the direction Mater had indicated. The wind blew pieces of grit through his broken window. Each piece stung. His window had not bothered him so much on the way down to Radiator Springs, but now it was starting to hurt as the dirt hit it.

He cursed to himself. _Why did I have to mouth off to the Hudson Hornet? Maybe he would have fixed my window if I'd asked nicely…screw that, Chick Hicks doesn't suck up to anybody. He may not have fixed it anyway, even if I'd been nice- he is Lightning's pit boss, after all. I'm not exactly popular among these people. Who knew "Doc" referred to the Hudson Hornet? _

He had pretty much convinced himself that Doc Hudson would never have fixed his window when a particularly large piece of grit bounced up from his wheels and hit him in the eye. He winced.

_Ford, I hate these roads. I belong on a nice, smooth track. _

The injury and the rough road brought back painful memories.

The memories always lurked under the surface, taunting him. They were there at the start of every race in that small, nagging voice that said, "You little fool. You don't really think you can win, do you?"

And, more than that, they were there at the end of every race. "Your Father was right. They all were. You are a failure. You will never amount to anything. Second, again!"

Chick Hicks shook his head. _I showed them. I __**did**__ show them! I'm not little Chicky anymore. I won a Piston Cup! Sure, I race dirty. But that is the world we live in. You need to fight dirty in order to win. No one will give you anything. I've had to fight for everything I've ever had. It's the cars who don't realize that who never get anywhere._

And every blow from his father, every beating from the neighborhood bullies, every snide remark and taunt from his other classmates, had all combined to make him the car he was today. A tough car who didn't take crap from anyone.

So it wasn't really so bad, was it?

Except, of course, he hadn't really shown them anything. He was still not respected, still not appreciated. He was still in the King's shadow.

Into the night, under the yellow moon, Chick drove. The road twisted and turned. He heard the chirping of insects, the cries of night birds. Finally, he came around a bend and saw the King.

Strip Weathers was up on the cliff. He was staring out over the land, at the beauty of the rock formations in the desert. It was truly a gorgeous sight, nature's wonder touched by moonlight.

Chick Hicks saw none of it. As he watched the King silently standing there, all his hatred returned in a hot rush. He remembered every humiliation he had endured since the last Piston Cup race.

Slowly, silently, he crept up behind the blue racecar.

And jumped as the King suddenly said, without turning, "Hello Chick."

_How on earth did he see me?_ Chick wondered. He pulled up next to the King. For a moment they sat in silence, staring off into the distance together. The night was quiet around them.

Chick looked out over the land- beautiful, but barren.

"Well," he said finally, breaking the silence. "I guess I owe you an apology."

"I guess you do," said Strip Weathers.

"I actually didn't mean to hit you so hard," Chick paused. Then the words burst out of him, "Do you know what its like? Always being in someone's shadow? _Never _beingable to measure up? You don't know what that does to a car."

Strip was silent for a few more minutes.

"You might be surprised," the King said finally. "You weren't around then, but I've lost my share of races. When I first came in as a rookie, there was one car I never could beat. I must have finished behind him in a dozen races. I lost the Piston Cup to him too.

And you know what? I never did beat him. He retired."

Chick said nothing.

"You're problem is, you let ambition consume you, blind you. There's more to life than winning. You don't need a Piston Cup to prove your value. It's not just winning, it's how you get there. Lightning MQueen knows something about that."

There was a pause. "We could talk," said the blue racecar quietly. "Want to head to Flo's?"

Somewhere, deep inside Chick, something stirred. He hesitated. But the moment passed.

"Thanks," Chick said, backing up, "But no."

He shifted into gear and lunged forward, ramming The King.

The blow knocked the blue racecar forward. As Chick pushed, the King hit reverse. His wheels spun in the dirt as Chick shoved him toward the edge of the cliff.

Chick's impromptu plan had worked- he'd lured the King into a false sense of security and then caught him by surprise.

"You know you were my hero once," said Chick. "But your time is over. You were a champion but you got old. And stupid. You should've passed the torch!"

The King's wheels had no traction. His front wheels touched the edge.

"Finishing what you started…on the track…" gasped the King. "Like a coward…out here all alone…in the dark."

His front wheels went over. He was balanced precariously. His back wheels spun. Little bits of stone and grit were swept over the edge. They drifted down toward the rocks below. The smell of burning rubber filled the air as the King's back tires struggled for purchase on the dusty earth.

"Where are your fans now?" Chick whispered, pushing harder. "Your records. Your Piston Cups. Where is Lightning to save you now?"

"You never could win fair," said the King, "Not on your own. You always had to cheat."

He started to topple.

"You never beat me!" he cried.

The King dropped like a stone.

Chick peered down at the wreck, feeling elated. Freedom!

Strip Weathers lay on his back. He was still alive, his wheels spinning. As Chick watched, flames slowly began to lick at the sides of the fallen car. The fire became a raging inferno. The flames accomplished what the Piston Cup crash and the actual fall had not. The King began to scream.

Chick looked around. Were they close enough to the town that cars might be alerted by the King' screams? Nervously, he began backing up. _I have to go_. He thought. _I really have to get out of here._ _If anyone sees me here, they'll know. That stupid tow truck. He knows I went looking for the King._ He paused. _Maybe I should find a way to wreck him too. I could lure him out here. I don't know- seems iffy. I mean, how many breaks can I get? I have to think._ _They will all suspect. But they can't prove anything. The wind will blow away any tire tracks. If there was any of my paint or anything on the King, it will be gone now. I just have to really watch my step. And I have to get out of here- NOW._

Chick turned and burned rubber driving away.

The explosion, when it came, shook stones loose from the cliff.

In the middle of the night, Doc Hudson was summoned from his office by the King's wife. She had been waiting for The King for hours and was starting to become worried. Doc woke Sheriff and several of the others, and they began to search.

It was the Sheriff who found what remained of the King on the rocks below the cliff. Sheriff was an old car. He had seen many things, and he was a tough car. But when he looked down at the twisted, blackened thing that had once been Dinaco's golden boy, he began to weep.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter 6 of Sic Transit Hicks**_

_To those who have read and reviewed my story, thank you. I warn you, this last part takes a bit of a turn…hope you are with me to the end….._

_OK…here goes….._

Chick drove and drove. He could barely see. The moon seemed to have disappeared behind a cloud. He saw no one, and had no idea where he was going. He needed to get back to the Interstate, to put as much distance as possible between himself and Radiator Springs. But he had no idea where he was.

Chick cursed himself for getting lost, but he couldn't feel too low. He had finally truly conquered the King. He was no longer in his shadow, never would be again. And, after years of taunts and insults that caused no reaction, he had finally broken the other car. The great King had cracked. He had screamed like a little child.

_What is it like to burn to death? How does that feel?_ Chick tried to shut out the little voice in his head but couldn't. _How long could he feel it? Surely not that long, the explosion took care of that. A minute? Two tops. But…_

Chick shook his head. "I don't need this crap right now," he said, out loud, to himself.

_It's not like I really meant to burn him anyway._

_Right. Like you didn't mean to push him._

_He got what he deserved._

_And what do you deserve?_

"Screw this," moaned Chick. _I'm losing it. _ _Gotta keep my head. I have to have my wits about me. Where the hell is that interstate?_

And where the hell _was _the interstate? Surely he should have come upon it by now? A chilling thought struck him. What if he ran out of gas in the middle of nowhere?

_Damn it! Should have filled up at the town. Ok. No point worrying about it. I have plenty of gas left. I can make it._

It was getting even harder to see. Giant rock formations stood on both sides of the road like silent statues. _Maybe I should turn around…_

The headlights came out of nowhere. Impossibly, he did not see them approaching. They suddenly filled his vision. They were coming straight at him at an enormous rate of speed!

Chick screamed. Blinded, he swerved to the right.

A rush of blue, briefly illuminated, tore past him. He thought he saw the high back, the familiar high spoiler, of a Dinaco blue car.

He registered all this in a fraction of a second. For in that horrible instant he was careening out of control.

The rock formation came out of nowhere. He hit it hard.

Pain jolted through him. His wheels spun briefly, then stopped.

Chick moaned. It was the worst pain he had ever felt in his life. But then, miraculously, the pain died away.

He was able to back up. He pulled back onto the road. Bewildered. Disoriented. But ok. In fact, the damage didn't look that bad.

_It's the shock. I must have not been going as fast as I thought I was. Now I have to keep driving. And it couldn't have been the King. It was just some other car, maybe some kid out joyriding. The King doesn't have headlights anyway._

The night had been warm but a chill had risen, and Chick shivered. He drove on. The moon came out, illuminating an eerie landscape. There was no sign of life. No cars. Not even any vegetation.

Chick began to hum to himself, trying to fight his growing fear. _The radio. I'll flip on the radio._ Racecars generally did not have radios. Chick, however, had had one installed. He never used it during races, for obvious reasons, but he liked to cruise around in his free time listening to it.

He fiddled for a little while, unable to pick up any stations. Static.The moon came out from behind its cloud. He could see more clearly, but what he could see was beginning to look unreal. The rock formations seemed to twist in agonized shapes. There were bits of reflective stone in them and these bits of rock glittered in the moonlight like a thousand tiny eyes.

Chick fiddled with the radio some more, trying to ignore the anxiety growing within him. The desert was starting to give way; here and there trees began cropping up along the side of the road. They were, for the most part, scrawny, writhing things, the only things, Chick supposed, that could grow in such a barren wasteland. Finally he got a station.

A familiar voice sang

_We flee the jaws of night_

_Down each our lonely road_

_Searching for the light_

_In world that's cold_

Chick recognized the voice of the lead singer. It was Sal Samson, singer for the Starship Brothers. But he didn't recognize the song. That was strange, because he had all their albums. The music was haunting and wistful and somewhat sad.

_When standing at those crossroads_

_Be careful how you choose_

_Go one way, you will find peace_

_The other way you lose._

_At the end of hope_

_We all sink low_

_From the bright spring sun_

_To the streets below_

The chorus again, then the announcer's voice broke in. "That was Starship Brothers, way back from 1974, with Crossroads. Now let's take some callers…"

The radio went dead. Chick flipped the dial. Nothing. Not even static. _Damn piece of junk _he thought. _Not that it matters. If I don't find civilization soon, I'm in serious trouble. _

_But you already are in serious trouble _said the voice _You killed a car. You shoved him off a cliff. Chick Hicks, murderer. Chick Hicks, murderer. _

"Shut up!" Chick snarled.

He revved his engine. He cut loose. The road was a straightway, and there was light to see. He rocketed down it as fast as he could. Something was bothering him, something other than his strange surroundings. He couldn't quite figure out what it was. It was nagging at him, a thought stuck right below his consciousness.

He suddenly hit a rock in the road. _No! _A tire blew. He skidded, fishtailed, pulled to a stop.

_Oh shit, Hicks, you're really in a jam now. A quarter tank of gas and a flat tire, out in the middle of nowhere. You're going nowhere, baby, on the midnight train. What are you going to do now, my friend? What are you going to do? I'll tell you what. You are going to sit here and wait for some patrol car to come. And it may take days. Hell, it may take years. You are going to sit here until you rust._

I can still go. I'll just go really slowly. I can drive with a flat tire. Cars do it all the time. I'll just go nice and slow, and forget the interstate. But there has to be someone out here, somewhere. Maybe some other little town, like Radiator Springs, but with friendly cars in it. I may be fine. There may be a rest stop just over that hill.

Rolling slowly, testing his footing, he moved on.

He tried to tell himself that everything was alright. It was just an empty road. But his heart was full of turmoil, and he was very, very far from home.

Unbidden, an image came into his mind. The King's wife, sitting in a motel room, waiting for her husband, who would never come home again.

He shook his head to clear it. He remembered all the times he had tried his best and been humiliated by the King.

He ruined my life. All I did was strike back….Right?

He found himself at the foot of a hill. Climbing was the hardest part. A wind had picked up, and bits of grit stung Chick's eyes as he fought for every inch of road. It was grueling, taxing work. And the voice, which didn't seem so little anymore, had to chime in.

_Chick Hicks, _it said, _here you are, really in a fix. A fix Hicks. Chicks, a fix._ Chick realized was giggling out load. It took an immense effort of will to stop. _You're screwed Hicks. No flying around the tracks for you buddy. This isn't flying, this is climbing a damn mountain._

But when he got to the top of the rise, he wanted to cry with relief.

Stretched out before him was a cornfield. Thank Ford. Civilization. If there was a field, there had to be a house. If there was a house, there had to be cars. And gas. And maybe a spare tire. And at this point, Chick would have welcomed an army of police cars coming to arrest him, he was so tired and scared. His vision blurred.

_Who's the little kid now? Who is it? Not the King, he's not crying over seeing a cornfield. He's not screaming either. Not screaming at all. Not anymore…._

Gravity carried Chick down and into the cornfield. He moved slowly among the rows. The corn was high. Chick had not been in many cornfields, but the corn seemed absurdly high. It towered above him. It bent over the road, giving the impression that he was moving through a tunnel. It seemed as tall as trees.

And suddenly Chick realized what had been nagging at him earlier.The DJ had said that the Starship Brothers' song had been recorded in 1974.

Sal Samson had died in a crash in 1972.

A sudden maniacal laughter started up in Chick's head. Or was it coming from the corn? It was. The laughter was coming from the corn. "God…" Chick moaned, "Stop." The laughter grew louder. It was coming from all sides. It rose, an insane cackle, into a crescendo. Chick could feel his mind straining at its tethers, about to snap.

Then the laughter stopped. There was complete silence. No bugs chirping, no night sounds. Chick shuddered. There was nothing else to do. He moved on. With all his heart, he wished he were back in his garage, sleeping peacefully.

_You never beat him. _Said the voice suddenly, out of nowhere, _You never beat the King. Not fair and square. Hicks, you just don't have it in you._

_I DID beat him! I killed the bastard! Pushed him over a freakin' cliff. He's dead!_

_Yes, you killed him. But you never beat him._

_  
I'll work out that crap later. Right now, I have a few other things to worry about. In case you didn't notice, the corn was laughing. Dead singers are recording songs. I have to get out of here, got to keep going… _

He stopped. The corn was rustling, but there was no wind. It was moving on its own, moving as if it were teeming with unseen creatures. Was it something in the corn? No, it was the corn itself. A cornstalk bent, moved like a snake, reached out to him. Another stroked his bumper.

Chick screamed. He floored it. Sparks flew. Mindlessly, heedless of the damage he was doing to himself, Chick fled. A bend, a straightway, and the corn ended.

Tears ran down Chick's face. He sobbed. There, before him was the cliff overlooking Radiator Springs. The same cliff where, hours or days or years before, he had killed Strip Weathers.

He turned and looked back. The corn parted. It gave way like waves of water. Something enormous was coming. Something impossibly big.

There was nowhere to run.

A huge reaper, the kind used on farms to harvest corn, emerged from the field. It was painted fire engine red. It was huge, gigantic, far larger than any reaper had ever been. It's eyes…its eyes were glowing balls of flame.

It spoke in a voice so deep it vibrated the earth. Two words.

"Welcome home."

Then he knew.

An unseen force pushed him forward. He tried to brake, tried to reverse, but he was being pushed from behind, even though his rearview mirror showed nothing there.

He looked out over the top of the cliff.

The crash. The crash against the rock formation when the King (and it must have been the King) had run him off the road. That had been fatal. Somewhere, there was a rock with his body wrapped around it. He was dead.

For stretching out before him was a massive lake of fire. It stretched North, East, in every direction, as far as he could see.

The force propelled him on. His tires went over the edge. Further, further, the force pushed. Slowly. As if in no hurry.

Then Chick was falling through the air.

And then, just like the King, Chick Hicks knew what it felt like to burn.

He screamed until he had no voice left.

And he knew his torment would never end.

**_The End _**

**Sic Transit Gloria Mundi: Thus Passes Glory From the World **

**Sic Transit Hicks: Thus Passes Hicks**

_Ok, I know this was a different direction for the story, and maybe some people are disappointed. But still, I hope I took you on one hell of a ride _

_Incidentally, this story concerns two things that really scare me- fire, and cornfields at night. When I was a kid, there was an immense cornfield across the street from our house. It was a fun place to be during the day, but at night it was terrifying- the wind would rustle the corn, which would be up over my head, weird shadows would be everywhere. I hated walking past it. Well, my next-door neighbor, a quite evil kid named Michael, soon took to hiding in the cornfield and jumping out at me at the most inopportune times._

_  
Fire is a little more understandable. When I was nine and my sister was five, her hair caught on fire from a lit candle. I was standing a few yards away. Fortunately, it was put out before she was badly hurt. In fact, she remembers little of the incident, but, in an ironic twist, I become a candidate for therapy every time I get too close to open flame._

_Go figure._

_So..anyway….that's all she wrote. Thanks…._


	7. Chapter 7

_Hello. A reader requested that I write an epilogue to Sic Transit Hicks showing how the townspeople (townscars?) reacted to the two deaths. Even though the story is over from Chick's perspective, I thought I would comply. What you are about to read begins at the same time Chick is going through his "nightmare ride." The scene opens with Sheriff standing on the butte…_

_BTW- I do not own Cars, or any of the characters in this story. Pixar owns them all, and I do not claim them as my own. I am merely borrowing them and have only the best of intentions towards their creators._

Sheriff sat silently on top of the butte, gazing down at the wreckage. In the pale moonlight the body was barely recognizable; but a twisted, bent spoiler and a few patches of blue paint amidst the charred metal provided the identity of the victim.

The King and his wife had visited Radiator Springs often in the past few months. Sheriff had grown to know them both well. He had liked the King quite a bit. It was rare that a car could be so famous and yet so humble, so successful and yet so down-to-earth. Sheriff closed his eyes, blocking out the terrible sight. This was why he had left the city all those years ago- to get away from scenes like this. Pay was better in the city and opportunities for advancement more frequent, but a city cop had to face tragedy and crime on a daily basis. Most city cops quickly learned to distance themselves. Professional detachment, they called it. They learned not to care. Sheriff couldn't seem to do that. Not caring wasn't something he did well. So he had returned to Radiator Springs, the little town he grew up in. A place where the residents cared about each other, crime was almost non-existent, and serious accidents were very rare.

But now the carnage of the city had followed him home.

He closed his eyes. The night was warm, but he trembled. Professional detachment be damned. He began to cry. He was sorry, so very sorry, that such a terrible thing had happened to such a good car.

As he struggled to collect himself, Sheriff glanced down. The moon illuminated dark streaks on the ground- skid marks. With a sense of mounting dread, Sheriff pondered what that might mean. The whole situation seemed wrong. The King accidentally driving off a cliff on a bright moonlit night? Unlikely. These skid marks hinted at an answer that chilled him to his frame. Such an answer was unthinkable, yet he was seeing the evidence with his own eyes. Could there be a killer in Radiator Springs?

Feeling cold and sick and very, very sad, Sheriff turned to drive down the butte. The night stretched out ahead of him, full of all the terrible things he had to do. He had to find Doc, had to figure out a way to recover the body (that wouldn't be easy), and had to secure what was very possibly a crime scene. And, worst of all, he had to find a way to tell the King's wife.

He was the Sheriff. The responsibility fell on him. With a heavy heart, he set out to find Doc.

Lynda Weathers looked at the clock. Its face showed that only three minutes had passed since she'd last looked. Once again, she told herself that her husband was fine. Maybe he had blown a tire on one of Radiator Springs' backroads. Maybe he had simply gotten lost. He'd probably be back any minute, apologizing, wearing his sheepish smile. She could picture that smile, the grin he wore when he knew he'd done something wrong. When he smiled at her like that it was impossible to stay angry.

He gave a similar smile to her when his fans were being especially demanding. He'd be surrounded by admiring cars, each jockeying for an autograph or photo, and would suddenly catch her eye and flash her that smile.

"Oh gee," it said. "What can you do?"

The look was more than a mere apology at these times. It was his way of checking in with her, of silently asking if it was ok, if she didn't mind waiting. The King loved his fans, but he put her first. If she needed him, he would excuse himself from the admiring throng and follow her away. She usually didn't mind the fans though- it made her proud that her husband was so popular. And for his part, he knew that just an autograph or a friendly word could make a fan's day. He sometimes had whole conversations with strangers who came to see him on the track. In fact, she thought, maybe that was what was happening now. They were in Radiator Springs, after all, and even though it was off-season there were probably tourists about who idolized her husband. He could be passing the time with some of them, not realizing how late it was getting.

Although it wasn't like him to let her worry…

As much as she tried to rationalize things, Lynda was scared. She was, in fact, scared out of all proportion of what was happening. She was the wife of a racer. Every race was potentially life-threatening. Both she and her husband knew the danger. Lynda had been in the stands when Junior's father, the Intimidator, had been killed. She knew what could happen to a car. Strip's last crash, by far his worst, had been terrifying for both of them.

But he was retired now. They could look forward to a peaceful life, just growing old together. The danger was past.

So why did she feel so afraid?

This was Radiator Springs, after all. A safe place. Cars didn't go around speeding like they did on the freeways in the city. Sheriff saw to that. Her heart warmed for a moment, thinking of the tough old cop she had befriended. Accidents here were rare, and her husband was a careful driver. Everyone in town was friendly and law-abiding. What possible danger was there?

All of this made perfect sense, but her fear and uneasiness did not go away. She glanced again at the clock. Ten minutes had passed.

This was very hard. She thought about going to find the hotel's owner, that sweet Porsche Sally, and passing the time with her. It would be better than sitting in this room alone. But Sally was probably asleep, and Lynda did not want to wake her. So she was alone with her worries.

To distract herself (as if that were possible) Lynda took inventory of the happiest moments of her life. They all included Strip, she realized. Their wedding. His first Piston Cup win. Their first kiss, shared in front of a movie screen as they cuddled together watching a scary movie. That moment, way back in high school, when she realized that this gorgeous, sweet, beautiful car was actually interested in her. Lynda smiled, lost in the memory for a few moments…

Their parents were away. Matthew, Lynda's brother, was having one of his parties.

"You better not tell Mom," he sneered, knowing full well she wouldn't dare. Matthew would make her life a living hell if she ever did.

She'd sat in her room, listening to the loud music and the voices which grew louder and louder as the gasohol flowed freely. Her brother wouldn't begrudge her some, but getting drunk with a bunch of his friends didn't appeal to her. They would probably just make fun of her anyway.

So she sat, quiet and lonely, until a sudden knock on the door made her jump. She was surprised to see Strip Weathers nose his way into the room.

"The bathroom's across the hall," she said.

He just smiled. It was sweet, unguarded smile, far from the drunken leer she would have expected from one of Matthew's friends.

"That's ok. I'm good." There was a short pause. A loud round of drunken laughter echoed from down the hall.

"My name's Strip." He said.

"I know." He was a junior; she was a freshman. His good looks had attracted the attention of her and her friends, but none of them had been brave enough to actually talk to him.

"Well, that puts me at a disadvantage," he said, still smiling. "Here you know me, but I don't know you."

Lynda gave a shy smile. "I'm Lynda."

"You're Matthew's little sister?"

She nodded.

"Well, that must be somethin'. Having to put up with him on a daily basis."

He said it with no trace of malice whatsoever. Still, she said, "You are at his party. So that's not nice."

Strip dropped his eyes, looking embarrassed and a little ashamed. His awkwardness made her like him immensely.

"It's ok," she said, letting him off the hook. "He _is _pretty hard to deal with sometimes."

Strip met her eyes and gave a weak smile. She suddenly wanted to nuzzle him, to cuddle up to him and take away any trace of embarrassment he might be feeling.

"So what are you doing sitting in here all alone?" he asked.

"I'm not really into these parties," she said. This was the moment he would turn and drive away, she knew. Just as soon as he realized she wasn't 'cool.'

He surprised her.

"You know somethin'? Just between us, I hate 'em too. It's just watching a bunch of cars get drunk 'til they're sick. I never come to these. Tonight, I don't know. I guess I just wanted ta get out of the house."

"I know what that's like," she said.

They regarded each other for a minute.

Then he cleared his throat. "Um…I guess I should get going." He started to turn.

"Wait!"

He stopped.

"You can stay a little longer."

He smiled. "Ok. Hey, you want to go for a drive?"

Wow. "Sure." She said, her heart pounding.

No one noticed them as they weaved through the guests and headed outside…

Back in the present, Lynda smiled. That drive had led to over twenty-five happy years of marriage.

Fear nagged at her again. What right do we have, she thought, to be so happy? After being so lucky for so long, couldn't their luck run out? She tried to shake away these negative thoughts.

"Please Strip," she whispered out loud. "Please be ok. I love you so much. Please come home."

There came a knock on the door. Trembling, Mrs. Weathers opened it. Sheriff and Doc stood there. Sheriff was staring at the ground, unable to meet her eyes.

Lynda's heart dropped like a stone.

Doc looked at her. There was a wealth of sadness in his eyes.

"Lynda," he said. It seemed like saying her name hurt him. "Lynda, I…there's been an accident. I'm so sorry….Strip has…passed away."

"No," whispered Mrs. Weathers. "No- it's a mistake. He…it has to be…"

"I'm very, very sorry."

The world seemed to tilt, unbalance. Everything became unreal, like a dream. "No…" she whispered again. "No…"

Sheriff finally raised his eyes and looked at her. It was real. It was truly real. Her husband was gone.

"I…can I see him? Where is he?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. "Maybe that isn't for the best," Doc said finally. "It was bad. He…it might be better if…"

"I need to…did he…did he suffer? I need to see him. I can't believe it…until I see him. Oh Ford….God…no.."

Alone. She felt suddenly, completely alone, even though Doc and Sheriff were there, looking at her with sympathy and pain.

The tears came. She sobbed quietly, as the other two cars looked on helplessly.

And in a dark place of pain, a beleaguered green car heard. Somehow, he heard everything, saw everything, and a cry escaped him. "What have I done?" He moaned. "What have I done?"

The sun was rising on a beautiful day when Sally Carerra nosed her way out of the cozy cone she had been sleeping in. She was happy, knowing nothing about the crime that had taken place in Radiator Springs the night before. She enjoyed the beautiful morning. Ever since coming to Radiator Springs, Sally had enjoyed getting up with the sun. To her, morning was a refreshing time, a time of renewal, and it gave her a sense of peace to move quietly through the sleeping town. Stickers, of course, hated mornings. He liked to sleep in. And that was OK. She loved every minute she spent with him, but she liked to have a little time to herself now and then. A time to relax and be alone with her thoughts. Normally, Sally headed for the butte and sat up there for a little while. Today, however, she felt like doing something different. It seemed a good day to take a drive.

She followed the path that she and Stickers had taken so long ago. The road rose and fell, turned and twisted. She loved the feel of the wind as she sped along, hugging the turns. _I've got to do this more often. _She thought. _Maybe I can get Stickers out here for a race later. It's been a while. I remember when I took him on his first drive out here…_

She was so deep in thought that she was right on top of the wreck before she saw it.

It was not a pretty sight. The green car was literally wrapped around the rock formation. The entire front end was caved in all the way back to his eyes, which were hidden behind crumpled metal. The car was sitting in an oil slick. There was no sign of life or consciousness.

Sally sat rooted to the spot for a moment, her mind rejecting the horror that her eyes saw. Her body seemed frozen; her emotions seemed numb. She was violently trembling.

There was no way this car could still be alive, but what if he was?

It took every ounce of courage Sally had to approach the still form.

"Hey," she said. It came out like a whimper. "Hey." She drove up to the green, sticker-covered car.

She could not bring herself to touch him. _I need to get help _she thought _Right away. _The beauty of the morning was gone, as was the warmth of the sun. Sally was cold. She would continue to be cold for a long time. _I need to get help_ her mind repeated.

She drove away. As she drove, she struggled to see the road, blinking tears from her eyes.

A green car covered with stickers. Obviously a racecar. Could it be the car Stickers was always fighting with? The one who wrecked the King? She could not remember his name. If it was him, what was he doing in Radiator Springs?

By the time she reached the town, she was sobbing. She drove to Doc's clinic and pounded on the door.

Doc and Sheriff opened it. They both looked troubled and worn, as if they hadn't slept all night. Sally was so distraught that she barely registered the large, sheet-draped object in the center of the room.

"Doc," she gasped. "Please, there's been an accident. It's the green racer. I-I think he's dead."

After Doc had examined Chick and determined that there was no life, he sent for Mater. He did this reluctantly, knowing the terrible effect towing a body would have on the sensitive tow truck, but he felt he had no choice. They couldn't just leave the body where it was, after all.

Mater rolled out of his little shack, a big smile on his face. "Mornin' Doc," the tow truck said cheerfully.

With a deep sigh shaking his frame, Doc told Mater what he had to do. Mater's face fell as he realized what Doc was saying. Doc headed out, showing the way, and Mater followed him, mumbling sadly to himself, all signs of good humor gone.

When Mater saw Chick, he gasped. "No! That's that there car, that Chick fella!"

Doc sighed. "Yes," he said. Despite the conversation of the previous day, despite his dislike for Chick, he felt sadness at the car's death. It gave him an eerie feeling that he had talked to Chick just the night before. Now there had been two deaths in Radiator Springs in one night, both racecars. At least one had been the victim of foul play.

Mater's eyes filled with tears. "I was just talkin' ta him yesterday. He wanted ta apologize ta the King for that wreck. I tole him the King was out on the butte. I wonder if he ever found him."

Doc snapped to attention. Chick had been looking for the King? Doc's mind whirred as things began to fit together: Chick at Radiator Springs, Chick looking for the King and heading towards the butte, the skid marks on the ground, and Chick's obvious attempt to flee Radiator Springs as soon as possible… Doc said nothing, but resolved to talk to Sheriff immediately.

Mater and Doc were silent as the tow truck, with his heavy burden, headed for town.

The next few weeks in Radiator Springs had the surreal quality of a nightmare for Lightning MQueen.

It seemed that every reporter in the world wanted to talk to him, to get his views on the tragedy. Rumors abounded. The prevailing one was that Chick had killed Strip and then died trying to run away. But the truth would forever remain unknown, because the only two cars who actually knew what had happened were dead.

Sally was inconsolable, as was Mater. Doc was almost as hassled by reporters as he was, and Sheriff had taken to sitting alone on the butte, staring off into space and rejecting anyone's words of comfort.

Reporters were everywhere, everywhere. Tex had come the day after Strip's death. He was immensely protective of Mrs. Weathers and refused to let any reporters near her. He took her away in a trailer, hiding her from the reporters and comforting her all the way to an "undisclosed location" where she could grieve in peace.

Over the next few days, he gave many official statements. He did not speculate about the rumors of murder, but merely mourned the loss of the King.

About Chick Hicks, he said very little.

It was a week after the deaths and the reporters were still flocking to Radiator Springs. Lightning could only hope that they would eventually move on to something else. The deaths as well as the presence of the reporters were taking a terrible toll on all the residents of Radiator Springs. Their town had gone overnight from being the racing capital of the world to the site of two of the most high profile deaths in racing, deaths that had taken place under tragic and mysterious circumstances.

Lightning had been hoping for some time with Sally. She seemed to be becoming more and more withdrawn and depressed, and he could never seem to spend any time with her alone. Whenever they were together, they were mobbed with the reporters who followed him wherever he went. He had always tried to ignore them and avoid answering their questions.

Now, as he was mobbed again, he thought that maybe he should give them something. Maybe they would stop pursuing him so doggedly if he did.

He turned to face the group of them who had begun to gather as soon as he had left the safety of his home.

"Mr. Mqueen, do you believe that Chick Hicks killed the King?"

Lightning answered honestly. "No, I don't. Everyone knows I didn't get along well with Chick; I don't think anyone in the racing world did. He was a tough competitor. But I don't believe he killed anyone. I don't believe he had it in him. He was somewhat ruthless on the track, but as far as I knew him, I don't think he would be capable of something like this."

"What about the rumors that there were tire tracks on the butte, that the King was pushed?"

In fact, Doc and Sheriff had spent quite a bit of time painting over those tire tracks. They knew the terrible damage that the rumors of murder would do to their town. And, after all, Chick was dead. What further punishment could there be? Perhaps it was best to let the dead rest…

"I think that's just a rumor. You can't believe everything you hear."

That night, he finally went to Sally. And it was then that he cried.

So did Sally. "Oh Stickers," she whispered, cuddling up to him. "it was so awful…"

"I can't believe it," said Lighting. "I just can't believe it. I raced with them just a few months ago for the Piston Cup. Now they're both gone. How did this happen?" It was a rhetorical question. He didn't really want to know the answer.

"They're saying he pushed him…."

"I don't believe that. Chick was many things, but not a murderer." They sat in silence. Lightning did not voice his true fears- that an unknown car, some unknown car with a grudge against racers, had murdered them both. Had pushed the King off the cliff and then chased Chick, forcing him off the road and killing him as well. Or what if Chick had merely been the witness to the crime of the King's death, a witness who needed to be disposed of? Lightning knew no one from the town was responsible, but what about one of the many tourists? Lightning would be afraid, jumping at every sound, for a long time…

During the difficult days and weeks, the residents of Radiator Springs comforted each other. All of them had been touched by the tragedy to a degree. None of them would ever be quite the same. But they had each other, and, as time began to pass, life went on.

_End_


End file.
